What's Wrong With This Picture
by Bellatrix Riddle
Summary: Voldemort, more keen on getting revenge on Harry at the end of his fourth year, will change Harry's life forever. Harry is now forced with a different fork in the road, and neither decision will leave him unjaded. Please Read and Review :)
1. Default Chapter

A/N: This is another one of my odd fics, but it'll have a lot of emotion! I really want reviews and ideas on this, but no flames :) Like most of my fics, this is of course AU.

Disclaimer- JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. :D Placebo title of course.

Summary: During the summer before Harry Potter's fifth year, Voldemort decides to get revenge on Harry in form much worse than death for humiliating him in front of his Death Eaters. A little blackmailing and ancient potions will do just the trick.

**What's Wrong With This Picture?**

The extensive Hogwarts grounds were crowded as students entered the enchanted carriages. Unlike the many years before though, the students seemed to be in a sort of daze, the bright sky and jubilant flowers making a strong contrast with their melancholy expressions.

Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger shot concerned glances towards their friend, Harry. Yes, the infamous Harry Potter appeared to be just as; if not more, disheartened than the rest of the students.

They tossed their heavy suitcases into the carriage in a uniform fashion. They took their seats only to be accompanied by a terribly awkward silence. Harry was whisked away from reality in a matter of moments, and faced with the vivid memories of the Tri Wizard Tournament.

_"Kill The Spare!"_

Again and again, that played in his head like a never-ending movie clip. He hated it. He hated the guilt. He hated the evil. Most of all, he hated the fact that he, yet again, contributed to someone else's death. Why couldn't he have just taken the Cup by himself? Why hadn't he seen through Moody? The questions flooded his mind, never to be resolved. By this point he could feel the hot tears trickling down his face, while he tried ineffectively to wipe them away.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked tentatively while Crookshanks leered at Harry.

Harry gave her a halfhearted shrug, gaze still focusing on the window. The silence again fell on the trio. Harry knew that Hermione and Ron were surveying him with unease, but he didn't know exactly how to put their concerns at ease.

"Um Harry" Ron said with a bit of choke in his voice "I was thinking. . ."

The raven-haired boy turned his attention to his two best friends

Ron continued, a bit uneasily "About our row earlier this year"

"I already said it was OK Ron"

"No, I was wrong. I don't know what came over me. And after, well you know, I just want you to know that you can count on my loyalty" Ron said, now with an immense interest in his shoes.

Hermione seemed to almost glow with pride. Clearly this had been unexpectedly. She then turned her attention to Harry.

"Thanks Ron, that means a lot. But I never doubted that." He said with the first smile in days. Part of him wondered if he had said that to break the silence, or if he just wanted to get it off his back. Either way, he knew he meant it, and that seemed to lighten his mood.

They promptly arrived at the Train, blazing in its fiery red glory. There had been some sort of hold up, but no matter. They boarded the train, and with an air of resolution, the trio was off for the summer.

Harry stumbled into the threshold of Number Four, Privet drive, and the full dread of summer at the Dursleys hit him full force. He slammed the stainless white door with his foot, Hedwig in one hand and his trunk lugging beside him. His eyes scanned over to the prim kitchen, where his cow of a cousin, Dudley Dursley, had just seated himself in front of a scrumptious blueberry cheesecake. So much for that diet.

"Pig" Harry observed with the utmost disgust.

"Well move along boy!" Vernon ordered, shoving Harry into the staircase as he walked into the kitchen. "You've got plenty to do today, the yard's a terrible mess"

Petunian bustled in after her husband, happy to tend to her son's every need. Harry rolled his eyes and regained his balance. He tried not to drop anything as he staggered of the stairs, the motley array of images of the Dursley's smiling at him.

After settling into his hole of a room, Harry collapsed onto the thin mattress and let sleep over come him.

This was going to be a long summer.

* * *

_The sense of fear in the room was unbearable. The dying light of the torches on the wall had an ancient feel to them as they flickered, one that was disbursed through the entire room. Harry peered around the room, only able to make out three forms, directly across from himself._

_Make that four; he was standing very close to someone._

_Was it Dumbledore? No, it definitely was not him._

_Panic started to wash over him as the ambiguity of the situation became rather clear to him. He tried to move away from the figure, which catalyzed the appearance of the other three. The shadows dissolved, transforming into the three people he held most dear._

_Suddenly there was a strapping grip on his shoulder, the figure that had been standing next to him had suddenly become animated; along with the trio across from them. Harry whipped around to face him, only to be met with a long black cloak._

_He returned his gaze to face the group across the room. The look of sheer horror on Hermione's face was a nauseating sight for Harry to behold. What was she so afraid of? And why was he not doing anything to protect her? Suddenly he felt as if he were watching all of this from a distance, a complete sense surrealism filled his heart._

_"Harry, what's the matter with you?" Hermione choked, uncertainty flooding her emotions._

_"There's nothing wrong with me, Hermione." Harry heard himself saying. His voice sounded surreal, most unlike his own. Ron frowned, as did Sirius._

_Sirius stepped to the front of the group, his expression pained. "Tell me what's going Harry, let us help you"_

_Harry felt himself pulling his wand out from behind his back stealthily. His actions were not his own. "Nothing is wrong, Sirius. Actually, everything is going just according to plan." Sharpness was now evident in his tone; his wand was now at the ready behind his back._

_"I'm not daft-"_

_"I'm afraid you are, Sirius." A disgusting leer tainted his features. For a moment, a pregnant pause filled the room, the deep gold light of the torches gleaming on the archaic bricks._

_A deep rushing sound ended the silence as it accompanied one of wizard-kind's most powerful curses. "_Avada Kedavra!_" The green jet penetrated the darkness, slamming into Ron Weasley's chest, a shock expression on his face as his hit the ground._

_Sirius' eyes widened in realization, his mouth slightly ajar. Hermione screamed as she ran towards Ron, her bushy brown hair covering her face as she held on to one of her best friends. Harry wanted to scream, to stop himself from whatever game he was playing at. He however, felt completely powerless._

_"You traitor!" Sirius bellowed, a mingled look of shock and anger playing on his gaunt face._

_"You finally noticed" Harry said as Sirius patted his robes in a dire search for his wand. Harry now held two wands in his left hand; he felt the smirk creeping onto his face. "I see I over estimated-"_

_Harry saw Sirius diving at him, but he did not dodge. The crack of his cheekbone being punched put him in a temporary daze._

_Harry's counterpart stumbled back, the two wands askew on the floor in front of him. He propped himself against the wall, his hand tentatively checking the broken bone on his face. He could feel his previously cool features contort into that of untainted wrath._

_"Two traitors in one lifetime, Black. If that's not daft I don't know what is. Your ignorance just can't stop killing people, can it? The world was safer with you in Azkaban, wasn't it!" The acerbic words were a verbal stab to Sirius; that much was clear; his expression said it all. Harry felt some part of him die as he heard himself say all of this._

_"I can't believe you're even related to James" Sirius whispered, his voice laced with a quiet rage as he took a step back. "You might as well be related to Voldemort"_

_Hermione had now sauntered over behind Sirius, the flickering light playing on her tear stained face._

_"That'd be quite an honor, wouldn't it be?" Harry asked coolly, his placid demeanor returning to him._

_Before he could indulge himself in the looks of shock from the two people in front of him, Harry lamely flicked his wand "_Imperio_" He muttered jadedly, as Hermione became his puppet._

_"Kill Him" Harry said silkily. A terribly familiar, cold, high pitched, laugh escaping his lips._

* * *

Harry shot up, cold sweat covering his forehead, a terrible scream reverberating off the dingy walls of his room, Voldemort's horrid laugh still echoing in his ears - or his laugh should he say. 

Harry hadn't even noticed that his scar was searing with pain. "Dammit!" He exclaimed as his hand shot up to try and allay the pain. This was the second day in a row that this had happened. Yesterday, however Harry had cared more during the course of the dream, he had tried to fight off the evil corroding his actions. Today. . .there had been a frightening degree, albeit minute, of lethargy.

'I have to tell someone, this will kill me if I don't' Harry mused anxiously. He needed to tell someone, anyone. But who? He knew Voldemort had something to do with these dreams. He knew he'd be in dire straights if he told Dumbledore. He ran a hand through his jet-black hair, the pressure of this already taking a physical toll on him.

He could try Sirius, but then again, it didn't really matter who the letter was for, Voldemort would know, and probably have it intercepted. Something about running the risk of enraging Voldemort made Harry rather queasy.

"Boy! Get your arse down here and cut this overgrowth of a lawn!" Vernon bellowed. For the first time, Harry gladly listened; keen on doing anything to keep his mind from the horrors lurking in his dreams.

* * *

The moonlit sky shone over Privet Drive, giving it an eerie sense of a soothing serenity, the gentle summer breeze blowing stray leaves off the grass. However, for Harry it was quite the opposite. For him, sleep had become more of a burden than it was away to regain lost energy. Indeed, the night had grown into the time of day he dreaded the most, more than chores or breakfast with his unbearable family. 

The Dursley's snoring and Hedwig's occasional flutter of her wings filled Harry's ears as he stared up at the popcorn ceiling, his mind filled with questions. Questions not only about the Wizarding world, but questions concerning his connection with Voldemort. He has asked Hermione and Ron for answers, but their replies were sparse. (Concerning events about Voldemort that is, he dared not ask about their opinions on his recurring night terrors) He hoped, however, that today being his birthday, they would provide him with a smidgeon of what's going on in a world he was such an important member of.

And while Harry longed to see his two best friends, part of him wanted to bait it off, wait until he had spoken to someone about the nightmares that had accompanied his sparse sleeping sessions.

It was July 31st today, the large red digits on Harry's alarm clock read 12:31. Sleep was beginning to form a lead weight on his eyelids, but he tried to fend it off for a bit longer. However, the sliver of moonlight that had lain over his bed sheets was suddenly eclipsed. Looking over at the window, Harry sat upright, his eyes watching the large eagle owl land on the ledge on his window. Hedwig looked at the owl with a bit of reproach, as if upset at being awoken.

"Who the hell would send an owl at 12 in the morning?" Harry asked aloud as he opened the window.

The owl elegantly flew over to the night table and extended its leg. On it was attacked a roll of parchment, which appeared to have a green border on it. Harry glanced at Hedwig for a second, before gently untying the letter from the large own. The owl hopped back on to the ledge, and soared out of the window.

'A bit intimidating for an owl' Harry thought as he tentatively opened the letter.

_- _

_Harry,_

_Hope you have been getting my messages. More importantly, I hope you have by now been able to decipher their point. I heard you are a bit dense, but as a rival of mine I would hope you are not completely…daft?_

_Indeed. We have quite a bit to talk about Harry; we wouldn't want those dreams to turn into a very bona fide reality._

_I also know you have not told anyone about these dreams. It is in your best interest to keep it this way._

_How could I forget, Happy Birthday._

_Lord Voldemort_

_- _

Harry reread the letter several times, his mouth was now completely dry and his heart was racing.

Shakily, he set the foreboding letter down. The minute it had left his hands, however, it burst into iridescent green flames. He stepped away from his bed, holding his head in his hands. These dreams had of course continued since his first night here. Nightly, obviously Voldemort had wanted to get his point across.

For the rest of the night, he had sat awake in his room, his eyes acquiring the bloodshot and baggy state only gained from a full twenty four hours without sleep.

However, what Harry didn't know is that a cloaked and masked Lucius Malfoy was permanently silencing a certain Dolores Umbrage, some one who was supposed to have an important role in his future school year.

His first Birthday card for 1995, was from Lord Voldemort himself.

This was a bad omen if he'd ever heard of one.

* * *

A/N: No flames, but I'd love to hear what you think. All suggestions welcomed. If anyone wants to help me with this story I'd love that too. Please review! 

B.R.


	2. August 12th

What's Wrong With This Picture?

Chapter 2 : August 12th

* * *

August 12th 1995. To most people, today was just like any other. But to Harry Potter it was yet another day living with the same limited information, which he had been sent a week ago.

"Ministry Official Dolores Umbridge mysteriously murdered"

That's it. Apparently it is the most controversial and prominent article in the Daily Prophet. But he knew he was probably one of the last people in the British wizarding world to even hear of this.

And while he couldn't help but resent his friends and his godfather for not further informing him on such important events, a voice in his head kept reminding him that he too was withholding vital information from them.

"Rather hypocritical, isn't it? What you aren't telling them could be much more critical than what they aren't telling you" The voice jeered condescendingly.

"Boy, hurry with those bloody dishes! You still have a days worth of chores to do!"

An uncharacteristic urge to destroy everything in close proximity of him overcame him, bringing a pang of panic as the nightly 'dreams' floated to the top of his memories. As soon as it came, the feeling vanished. Feeling a bit shaken, Harry decided to busy his mind with tending to the exterior of the house.

* * *

_Harry,_

_We know that you must be really frustrated about being stuck with your aunt and uncle for so long, but just hold on for a bit longer. We really do with we could tell you more about wha-_

_

* * *

_

There was a soft swish as a crumbled piece of parchment flew across the room and into the dingy black trashcan near the door.

Harry didn't have to finish reading the letter to figure out what Hermione was trying to say. Whether it was in Hermione's professional jotting, Ron's

casual jargon, or Sirius' curt reassurances, Harry knew exactly what the true gist of their messages was:

Sorry there's stuff going on, but we can't tell you about any of it.

"My reason for not telling them anything has to be 10 fold better than whatever reason they have." He said savagely.

12:37

The digits blazed in the moonlit room. His anger at his friends suddenly seemed something far away, as he tried desperately to fight the drowsiness brought on by hours of working in the blistering August sun. Now, the dilapidated cot he called a bed looked ever so inviting.

He knew that tonight holding off a certain recurring nightmare would be a near impossibility. And despite his reluctance, he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

A man sat alone at the bar in an enormous baroque ballroom, lazily nursing a glass of dark liquor. The soft light from the fire danced on the sharp outline of his face.

"Are you supposed to feel…this used up, at the age of 23?" He asked the room, his deep voice breaking slightly.

There was a long pause.

_You Liar._

It seemed as if a crowd many of invisible people had entered the room, their voices rising with every syllable, the disgust in their tone almost palpable.

_You Traitor._

The cacophony of the voices was reaching a dizzying level. The man, who was almost completely enshrouded in darkness, seemed to huddle closer to his drink.

_You **Fool**._

There was a thunderous smash as the aforementioned glass shattered against the dark green walls. 

Harry awoke with a start, the abrupt ending of the dream racking his nerves. His eyes focused on the dust in the room dancing in a sliver of early morning sunlight.

"Bloody hilarious, Voldemort" Harry muttered as he placed his hands against his searing scar. "Typical."

Now, more than ever, Harry wanted to owl Sirius to tell him about the onslaught of creepy dreams, or to tell him about the letter he received on his birthday. He pushed the thought out of his mind though. It was better for everyone if he didn't tell, right?

* * *

Oh come now! Please Review! Pretty Please:D 


End file.
